


Fëanatics!

by senalishia



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family Issues, First Kinslaying (Tolkien), Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senalishia/pseuds/senalishia
Summary: A collection of the double drabbles I wrote for Back to Middle Earth Month 2019 bingo even, for the prompts on the "Feanatics!" card. These stories focus on various aspects of Feanor and his family.





	1. Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to order these roughly according to in-universe chronology, rather than in the order I wrote them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Indis, History's First Wicked Stepmother
> 
> The only time Indis gets to hug her stepson is when he's asleep.

Indis looks on impassively as the child's shrieks turn to sobs and finally decay into soft, shuddering breaths. When he lays still, she waits a few minutes more to be sure, then creeps forward on silent footfalls, kneels beside him, and ever so slowly, inch by careful inch, gathers Finwe's son into her arms. 

She promised her husband that she could manage while he was away. Begged him, even, for a chance to spend some time with the boy, just the two of them. To make another try at winning, if not his love, then even his tolerance.

This has become their routine for the last four days; Laurelin rarely reaches its peak before something she says, or does, or is makes him flash over from smoldering resentment to incandescent rage. Stern exhortations and soothing pleas have both proven useless. But his little body can only contain so much for so long before he exhausts himself. Then, at last, she gets to hold him and pretend for a little that they are a family.

“I'm not her,” she tells him as he sleeps. “I know I will never be your mother. But won't you let me at least be something?”


	2. Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: That Weasely Fingolfin, reprise
> 
> Fingolfin acquires a sword

Nolofinwë had moved that accursed thing from his desk, to the corner of his study, to the top of the bookshelf where he could forget about it for days at a time. But he could not bring himself to get rid of it.

It was a fine piece of work, from what he could judge, which the most talented smith of his household had delivered to him in the quiet of Telperion's waning. _Ringil_ , the runes named it, and it seemed a cold thing indeed. The smith had spoken of the advantage the length of the blade would provide; against what had been left carefully unsaid.

There was wisdom, he told himself, in being prepared for all eventualities. The smith claim the innovation had been a notion of his own devising, but Nolofinwë's heart misgave him. The most skillful smiths among the Noldor were not loyal to _him_.

He had to face facts. He could no longer put his trust in an older brother who had become dangerously unstable. If left unchecked, Fëanáro might in his pride incite the Noldor to oppose the Valar themselves.

Perhaps if he hurried, he could speak privately with his father before the council convened.


	3. Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Unjust exile
> 
> Finwë has feelings about his son’s sentence

Twelve _years_ exile. Finwë didn't know if Manwë, in all his wisdom, could really understand why the thought of it froze his heart. In their old home under the stars, where terrors lurked in the darkness, separation from one's clan was counted the direst of threats. Not even for a crime so grave as this would Finwë have meted exile as punishment; it would have been more merciful to slay the offender outright.

Of course, under the light of the Trees, such fears had lost their foundation. Feänáro spent more than half his time roaming the furthest borders of Arda as it was; he would likely retreat up north, and a good half of the Noldor with him if they were allowed, and he would be fine.

But what of his family? The younger Curufinwë would follow his father, of course, but the others all had claims on their hearts elsewhere. And he was afraid this might be one grievance too many for Nerdanel.

He had made his decision already. His soul knew it, and he only had to admit it. Nolofinwë was well qualified to rule in his stead. He would not let his son go into exile alone.


	4. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The War of Telerin Aggression
> 
> Fingon scores his first kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be the graphic violence

He didn't know.

He didn't know he could strike that fast, when his heart started racing and his vision narrowed to see only the opponent in front of him.

He didn't know an elven body contained that much blood--enough to drown someone in, if there hadn't already been an ocean conveniently at hand.

He didn't know until much later how the fighting had actually begun--but then again, it turned out almost no one had.

He knew how to wield a blade. Many of his generation had practiced in secret with each other; he'd delighted in discovering he excelled at it, and drilled until his body remembered every move.

He knew that the woman had been swinging her knife directly for Maitimo's throat, and that he would do anything to keep that blow from landing.

And now he knew what it felt like to have another elf's blood flow over his hands, to see the light leave her eyes, to feel her spirit brush past him on its way to the Halls.

But the choice had been made before he even knew he was choosing, and his only options now were to join her, or keep fighting.

He chose to fight.


	5. Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Freedom Fighter
> 
> Enthusiasm for linguistics _almost_ saves Fëanor's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of chapters actually in Fëanor's point of view!

Fëanáro cast about but failed to find more fodder for his blade. It became increasingly clear they were driving the orc army into a full retreat. He itched to follow them, as they undoubtedly fled toward their dark Master. But Turcafinwë's forces had not yet rejoined them, and these odd local Elves, too like the treacherous Teleri, needed to be dealt with.

“I think their leader wants to talk to you,” Nelyafinwë murmured. Should he? They had been of at least a little help in the prior battle. Yet his gaze drifted again to the dwindling silhouettes of the orcs.

The woman who met him opened with a long string of words in a dialect so strange it was almost completely incomprehensible. It wasn't Noldorin, nor Telerin, nor even the ancient language of Rúmil's earliest writings. A rapturous curiosity he hadn't realized he could still feel gripped him as he realized that while his people had stagnated in Valinor, these Elves had undergone at least one major consonant shift, and if he’d heard right, a grammatical change that--

His attention pulled northward once more. His father's killer still lived. He'd have to delay the pleasure for just a few days.


	6. Foresight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fëanor wasn't nuts (just misunderstood)
> 
> Fëanor finally gets his head straight once it's too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be the character death. Poor Fëanor, taken from us too soon.

Fëanáro didn't appreciate the slowness of thought that apparently accompanied one's soul detaching itself from one's body; it was worse than being drunk. But there was a kind of clarity in it, as well.

His reasoning had seemed sound at the time, if one accepted certain premises. He’d stolen the ships because he needed to cross the sea to get to Morgoth. He'd burned the ships, because--the logic was a bit fuzzier but he couldn't be fighting Nolofinwe over the kingship when he should be fighting Morgoth.

He'd been lying to himself. He'd wanted to believe there was some way to make things right, to regain what he could and have justice for what he couldn't. But Manwë had been right, damn him. He didn't have the power.

His sons were still bound by the Oath and would have no way of fulfilling it. He had to impress upon them how dangerous a position they were in. “You swore…” he croaked, but his throat gave out and young Curvo only assured him that they would not fail him.

He breathed curses upon his enemy until his lips would no longer move. He prayed his father and mother would welcome him.


	7. Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “He was very willing that the chief peril of assault should fall upon himself”
> 
> Maedhros makes a choice.

Nelyafinwë considered the information they had gathered on their journey across the north of the continent, from their landing in the west to these formidable mountains in the east. Tyelcormo seemed eager to attempt to cross them, but Nelyo finally sided with the others and agreed that they had explored far enough.

Pityo spoke to the local Quendi and learned that they called the black, glassy lake _Helevorn_ and the peak that loomed above it _Rerir_. He took his own careful measurements and observations and added the landmarks to his map.

Nelyo looked over the picture of the terrain his little brother had constructed. “There,” he indicated a spot in the foothills east of the pine-covered highlands labeled Dorthonian. “That is where we will begin building our fortifications.”

“There's nothing there but low hills, Nelyo! It's almost totally indefensible!” Carnistir objected. 

“Exactly. Without a strong front line, everything south of here will be vulnerable to attack. But if you believe Arafinwë's sons have mettle enough to render your efforts unnecessary, you may feel free to lead your people where you wish.”

“As long as the Enemy holds the Silmarils, we must oppose him with everything we have,” Curufinwë reminded them.


	8. Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Knight in Shining Armor
> 
> What's the point in besieging Angband if you don't look good?

It wasn't until years later, when the chaos had died down, they'd settled into their new lands, and the siege had well and truly begun, that Maglor paused to consider the _aesthetic_ quality of his armor.

He'd only meant to check it over for defects in preparation for a scouting expedition the next morning, but the more he looked at it, the more details he saw that could be improved upon. It wasn't that his father hadn't had any artistic vision when he crafted it, only that they hadn't always agreed on what statement such a thing ought to make. Before he knew it, he'd stayed up far later than he should drafting silhouettes and color schemes, then asking his wife for her opinion and promptly getting into a debate with her over the merits and drawbacks of capes.

He didn't much bother wondering whether any particular part of his design would be em>possible. Once he had a few days free, he'd ride out to Himlad and show his sketches to Curufin; anything merely difficult he'd take as a challenge, and he’d have no reservations telling his older brother if there were anything impractical about it from a defensive standpoint.


	9. Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Caranthir helped Haleth
> 
> Caranthir _tried_ to help Haleth, anyway

Caranthir had to have the girl pointed out to him three times before he comprehended that she was the leader he sought, for she was neither particularly tall, nor particularly brawny, nor yet among the fairest of her people.

She made no courtesy or obeisance when he was introduced to her, though he supposed she had little opportunity for education in the wild lands of the East. “ _Caran_ , like the color?” was her reply; her Sindarin was good, if heavily accented. “That should be easy to remember.”

She received his lavish gifts with more suspicion than gratitude, but he expected a better response to his offer of well-protected lands in which to rebuild their settlements.

She barely allowed him to finish speaking before informing him, “Actually, we're moving West.”

He tried to explain to her the advantages she would be passing up, without letting on how keen he was to acquire the support of a folk proven so mighty.

“I can't argue with you,” she interrupted once again. “You may press us into your service as the orcs would have, if you please. But the Haladin are not as suited as some to employment as vassals to great elf lords.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Maedhros went to look for Elured and Elurin
> 
> Maedhros contemplates various shades of evil.

Maybe he’d just gotten used to killing. He’d done terrible things in the name of his Oath, but he’d never taken another elf's life without thinking out of sheer anger like that before. For what they'd done to those poor boys, Ariest and Thindang had deserved death far more than the hundreds he'd just slaughtered in this fruitless attack; was it right to regret their deaths more?

It had been his brother’s duty as their lord to set a good example, not to lead them into evil. All of his brothers and himself were ultimately doomed on that account, of course, but he thought that even in their damned state there would be some paths open to them less evil than others. 

Celegorm now had so frightful a reputation across Beleriand, yet it sickened him to even think it was for the best that he had died. But when he'd heard report of what his servants had done with Dior's sons, it had seemed right that they be slain as well.

There was no point in trying to clean the blood from the skirt of his cloak before he dragged it over his shoulders and stalked out into the snow.


	11. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Feanor Was Framed!
> 
> There's certain misapprehensions that simply can't go uncorrected.

“And then,” the old sea captain told his wide-eyed young audience, “the wicked elven prince Sarufinn, furious that the throne would not be granted to him, drew his sword and leapt to attack his brother, his own blood, in the very house of the king. Oh, how their poor mother wept to see her sons fighting so. They--”

“That's not quite what happened,” the shadowed figure at the corner table said softly. He was heavily dressed for the warm South--wrapped in a thick cloak and clothed head to foot, even his hands gloved.

As every eye turned to him, he drew back his hood to reveal eerily delicate features and eyes that shone with a peculiar light.

“Oh!” said the captian. “Begging your pardon, Master Elf. We don't often see the fair folk round here, these days. And I'm only telling the tale as I was told it by my granddam, God rest her soul. I’d be much obliged if you'd share with us something nearer the truth.”

The Elf stared for a long time at something none of the rest of them could see.

“They were half-brothers,” he told them at last. “Sarufinn's mother died when he was born.”


	12. Ambar-metta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fëanor: savior of Middle-earth
> 
> Fëanor is prophesied to play a vital part in the remaking of Arda after Dagor Dagorath.

Mandos kept his promises; he did not release Fëanor from his custody until the world had been broken in one final, apocalyptic battle. The jewels for which so many had died were delivered to him, by the hand of Ulmo, and of Aulë, and of Earendil.

When he again beheld the greatest creations of his hands, he could not summon the fierce protectiveness he had once felt for them, except as a distant memory. Perhaps, cut off from the physical for so long, he had come to appreciate in spite of himself that which could not be locked in a hoard.

Yavanna approached him, pausing halfway to glance back at her husband with a look that so clearly said “Do I have to?” that Fëanor almost laughed.

She knelt before him--reluctantly, obviously, but she knelt. “We thank you for your wisdom in preserving this light ere we knew we would have need of it. Now, noble son of Finwë and Miriel, will you allow...will you _please_ allow me to open the jewels you have created and release their light, that I may create new Trees and light the world once again?”

She asked so nicely. How could he refuse?


End file.
